


Walking and Wanna be Dead

by MissAn0nymus



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAn0nymus/pseuds/MissAn0nymus





	Walking and Wanna be Dead

The metal door creaks open, as expected. “Come to take these off, ya little shit?” I spit at the entrance of my cell. Moments pass before I hear footsteps come towards me. I sit up straight, still defiant as hell, regardless of my lack of attire. The blindfold is removed from my eyes and I see a rugged man with a crossbow. My eyebrows shoot up, having not seen a new breather in… 3 months or so. “Oh, um… hi?”

 

“The fuck happened to you?” He has a southern drawl and a brown vest.

 

“This asshole kidnapped me?” I sum up. His hands go behind me and he does something to the handcuffs keeping me in place. Not even a minute later the cuffs fall away and I automatically rub my wrists.

 

He grabs my forearm, looking at the bites that cover it. One was from August. It's March now. His eyes lock with mine, obviously confused. “Yeah, I'm immune. That's why he kidnapped me.”

 

He stands and holds a hand out for me, which I take. The movement caused by that makes my ribs hurt, making me whimper slightly and clutch my aching side. He grabs my shoulders to keep me from toppling onto the floor. “I'm good.” I resist his assistance, but he keeps clamped onto me.

 

“No, your not.” He retorts. Not letting me go until I'm half sitting half laying on the couch on the ground floor, he helps me out of the basement and up the stairs.

 

He helps me onto the couch and crouches next to me, looking me over. He skips over my breasts, like a gentleman, but stops when he sees the mess between my legs. I shift slightly, ashamed of what I couldn't prevent, covering the blood and semen long since dried to my skin.

 

He leaves for a few minutes, making me think he left, and I start to cry. I'm free. No more beatings, no more experiments, no more RAPE. He walks back in and I hurriedly dry my tears. “I, uh, made you a bath.”

 

He helps me to the bathroom, which is about 30 feet away, and practically lifts me into the tub. The warm water stings my wounds, making me hiss lightly.  _ Suck it up, McClarran. _ He hands me a washcloth with body wash on it and turns away.

 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I inquire.

 

“... because no one should haveta go through that. I know how it feels.” I rest my hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. He shrugs my hand off and says, “Get washed up, we got a doctor in our group, he can look at your ribs.”

 

After I finish he helps he out and sits me on the toilet seat. Coming back after a few minutes, he hands me my backpack, with, “I think this is yours.”

 

I open it, all my stuff still in its place. “Yeah, how-”

 

He points to a pin on the front saying ‘That's my name, don't wear it out’. “Sounds like you.”

 

I smile at the memory. “My little sister gave it to me for my 17th.” I grab a set of clothes and struggle with my bra, unable to bring my hands up to clasp it. I nearly jump out of my well bruised skin when another pair of hands hooks them together for me. Realising what the fuck just happened, I mutter, “And who said chivalry was dead?” Earning me a chuckle from the man behind me.

 

Next, I slip my arms into a well loved and warm hoodie. I try to bend over to put my knickers on, a sharp stabbing pain causing me to gasp. I clench my teeth together as I reach down further and grab the edge of my underwear. I pull them up and over my hips and rear.

 

Reaching for my sweats, a calloused hand grabs mine. “Let me. You're too hurt too do that.” I want to protest, but he already has my feet and lower legs in, sliding them up my thighs. Blushing, I allow him to put my socks and shoes on me, as I'm unable to bend down that far.

 

He loops an arm around my waist and helps me up, my bag on my back. I grab his shoulder, slipping my other into my pocket, finding an object lining the fabric. I pull it out and smile slightly. “I wonder if the number is still in service.” I laugh, amused at my phone related joke, and immediately regret it, my ribs sending ripples of pain through my chest, making me grunt.

 

“You okay?” His grip on me tightens slightly.

 

“Better than I was an hour ago.” My voice sounds strained, trying to make light of a horrible situation.  _ It's rare nowadays _ , my sister had said, so I decided to keep that quality around.

 

He sets me down on on a motorcycle, straddling the half of the seat in front of me. “Hold on.” He mutters, turning the beautiful beast on. I encircle my arms around his torso, resting my cheek against his winged vest, following his instructions as we drive away from my personal hell and to a campsite.

 

“Hey Daryl.” I hear an older feminine voice call. We stop a few yards from a red vehicle. I release his middle and he stands, walking over to an old man with a beard. Within the time it takes for the man I assume is Daryl and the Santa wannabe to discuss… whatever it is, I manage to lift one of my legs high enough to maneuver it to the other side, now sitting on the bike like a ‘lady’ rides a horse.

 

Santa walks over, Daryl walking deeper into the group of people, stopping at a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. “Hey darling, what's your name?” Santa asks.

 

“Violet.” I state bluntly.

 

“Well Violet, I'm Hershal. Now, I understand you have some injuries that need some looking at.” I nod, unzipping my hoodie, showing him my nearly black skin. “Damn.” I hear him mutter to himself. “Follow me, dear.” He requests, walking into a blue tent. I follow, my side HURTING.

 

After a few minutes of Hershal poking at my torso, he says, “You appear to have a few broken ribs.”

 

I laugh gently. “I could have told you that.”

 

“We need to set the breaks.” He says, unsure looking. My mouth opens a little, his hands already on my skin, pushing the jagged pieces of bone back into place. I put my hand over my mouth, muffling my scream.

 

After the other 2 ribs are set, he wraps gauze around my chest, keeping them in place. He pats me lightly on my hand gripping the sleeping bag beneath me, signalling his finish. When the pain subsides enough to do so, I sit up and thank him, sipping up my hoodie.

 

“It was no trouble, but I'm surprised you didn't scream more. You're pretty tough.” He beckons me outside and leads me through to Daryl, leaving me and going back to his tent.

 

Rifle-man hooks his thumbs in his Jean pockets. “I'm Rick.”

 

“Violet.”

 

“We need to talk about the… conditions Daryl found you in.” He phrases.

 

“What about it? It's pretty damn clear what happened.” I snark.

 

“He told me what you said.”

 

“What part?”

 

He looks deep into my eyes. “The bites. The kidnapping.” He smiles slightly. “Your sense of humor, even after what you've been through.”

 

“What's to talk about?” I maintain my stare with him.

 

“We need to know everything.”

 

“Well, I don't really  _ know _ any of you. So you can suck my imaginary dick, you cunt.”

 

He sighs softly. “Look, I get that, but I need to know. I can't let you be part of this group, or even know where to find us, until I know everything I can about you.”

 

“I'm sorry, but I can't. I don't trust any of you enough.”

 

“You trust Daryl, right? Tell him. Then he can tell me.” And with that he walks away.

 

“Prick.” I mutter, earning a quiet chuckle from the man next to me. I turn to him, still pissed at Rick. “Whata ya wanna know?”

 

“Just tell me about yourself.” He prompts.

 

“Well, I lived in Duluth, Minnesota until last year. When the apocalypse started, my dad and siblings went south, not really knowing where to go. We wandered for almost a month, then got separated by a hoard. That's when douche nozzle took me. At first he just took blood, but then he pushed a biter in with me and saw that I didn't turn. He then started testing on me. I lost count of the injections and pills. Then he… he said that my immunity would be genetic, and that it was my responsibility to… pass on that trait.” I stop, my eyes tearing up slightly. I take a deep breath and continue. “At least, that's what he said, but he didn't stop, not even after it was clear that… his plan was successful. After a while I FINALLY got some of my spunk back, so I gave him some lip. Then he started beating me. A week ago he kicked me, and it killed… his plan. He got pissed and beat me half to death. Then you came.”

 

“That's fucked up.”

 

“You're telling me.” I mutter.

 

“So, you have siblings?” He asks, changing the subject.

 

“Yeah. Scarlet and Sapphire. They're twins.” I summarize.

 

“What about your dad?”

 

“Drunk widower. Abusive drunk widower.”

 

“Mine too.” He smiles at me.

 

“You guys really need a better system.” I critique.

 

“A what?”

 

“Like… a set of questions or something.” I think for a moment before suggesting, “How many dead have you killed, how many people have you killed, and why?”

 

“Not bad. I'll tell Rick you think so.” The fire where all the people I've seen are sitting at is getting high, them looking at me from a distance. “C'mon, dinner.” He lightly grabs my arm and pulls me towards the heat.

 

“Hey sweety.” The voice I heard welcome Daryl earlier says. It belongs to a middle aged woman with a lesbian haircut.

 

“Hey.” I smile softly at her, still mildly uneasy.

 

She sticks a hand out to me. “I'm Carol.”

 

I shake it, her hands are still kind of soft, considering the apocalypse happened. “I'm Violet.”

 

“So Violet,” The woman who is about to pop asks, “How did you meet Daryl? I'm Lori by the way.”

 

“Hi Lori. Um, he saved me, I guess sums it up.” I half white lie.

 

“Walkers?” A short Asian guy asks.

 

“Huh, walkers. I called them biters. And no, if only it was that simple. But when I want you to know I'll tell you.” I smile at him and his girlfriend (?), their hands intertwined.

 

“I'm Glen. This is Maggie. You met Hershal, Carol, Daryl, Rick, and Lori. That's Beth, Carl, and T dog.” He introduces, pointing.

 

“Tyreese or Tyrone?”

 

“Tyshaun.” The black man across the fire grumbles.

 

“I see why you chose T dog instead.”

 

He scoffs. “Yeah, it's a chicks name.”

 

“Yes it is.” I agree, smiling warmly at the self named dude.

 

Following some small talk is dinner. Carl hands me a plate of about 3 times what I normally receive. “You don't need to give me any, you've already been too kind.”

 

“Eat.” Rick commands.

 

“What about a smaller serving?” I offer, since he seems to have made up his mind.

 

“Just eat it.”

 

I smile slightly and eat the entire squirrel that had been provided to me. Near the halfway mark of my meal I hear the soft ‘ _ Tsk _ ’ of a twig breaking. “What was that?” I turn in the direction of the noise and listen closely. Barely audible is the sound of dragging feet.

 

I grab the closest weapon to me and run over, not paying attention to the shouts behind me. I see an undead and stab it through the eye, it collapsing instantly. Weren't there two of them? As soon as I think that a mouth encircles my shoulder, only being able to break my skin through my hoody. I whirl around and send my heel into his knee and dart to the knife still embedded in the first’s head. I pull and do a 180, facing the dead head on. I simply shove the weapon in it's head, remove it, and head back.

 

“Here.” I say, returning it to Carl.

 

“That was cool,” He says, smiling.

 

“Yeah, I learned it from my mom before she passed.” I shrug.

 

Suddenly, T Dog pulls a gun on me. “Your shoulder.”

 

“Didn’t make contact.”

 

“Prove it.” I roll my eyes and unzip my hoodie enough to slip my shoulder out and show it to them, bleeding. 3 others pull weapons out and aim them at me.

 

“Stand down,” Rick stands and says.

 

“But she’s bit!”

 

“Uhbut I’m immune.” I sass. I roll up my sleeves and show them the mass of bite scars on my arm.

 

Their collective gasps are worth anything they can throw at me.


End file.
